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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104421">Death and Beauty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niphredilien/pseuds/Niphredilien'>Niphredilien</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fëanorian Week 2021 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beta'd, Caranthir Being Remarkably Not Angry, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Relationship Advice, Sort Of, discussions of mortality</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:29:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niphredilien/pseuds/Niphredilien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I have…well, you have children – I have seen them – but I was curious as to their mother. I-” She wrings her hands. “Celegorm told me she was a mortal.”<br/>Caranthir tries to force himself to relax. “Yes,” He says tensely. </i>
</p><hr/><p>Caranthir is just doing his mending when he is asked for advice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caranthir | Morifinwë &amp; Lúthien Tinúviel, Caranthir | Morifinwë &amp; Original Character(s), Caranthir | Morifinwë/Haleth of the Haladin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fëanorian Week 2021 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203863</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Death and Beauty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello all!</p><p>For day 4 of Fëanorian Week, I am using the prompt Marriage. Despite having a lot of feelings about Caranthir and getting some lovely ideas, this was still really difficult for me to complete? Once I got it, I was all over it, but before that, I spent a lot of time just staring at a blank page on Word.</p><p>On a side note, if anyone was wondering, I swear that at some point I <i>will</i> finish Fate and Flowers, it just might take some time.</p><p>Thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacat3/pseuds/oliviacat3">oliviacat3</a> for beta’ing.</p><p>And I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>| Marriage |</p><p><br/>
</p><p>“Lord Caranthir?”</p><p>Caranthir, invested in his sewing as he is, does not hear the oncoming footsteps. He looks up sharply at the enquiring voice, his needle poised for another stitch.</p><p>It is Daeron’s little sister – the famous Lúthien.</p><p>He nods politely, says: “Riel Lúthien,” and turns back to his work. Hopefully, it makes it clear enough that he wants her to move on – he has no desire to converse with anyone right now.</p><p>She continues to stand there.</p><p>“May I-” She begins. “May I speak to you?”</p><p><em>You will anyway</em>, he thinks as he looks up again, not trying to hide his irritation. “Go on then.”</p><p>She shifts on her feet, avoiding his eyes. “Celegorm was telling me of you while we were scouting the girdle. For a weakness.”</p><p>“Was he now?”</p><p>“Yes.” She doesn’t catch the sarcasm dripping from his voice or she simply ignores it. “I have…well, you have children – I have seen them – but I was curious as to their mother. I-” She wrings her hands. “Celegorm told me she was a mortal.”</p><p>Caranthir tries to force himself to relax. “Yes,” He says tensely.</p><p>She opens her mouth something and then closes it again, sitting herself opposite him at the table.</p><p>“Should I have listened to my parents?” She asks. “I love him but…but he will die and go where I cannot follow.”</p><p>Caranthir swallows.</p><p>He has thought this before – that if he had let Haleth go west as she had initially planned then maybe he would have been saved from the ache that had never quite left his chest.</p><p>“How much do you love him?” Caranthir sets his sewing aside. He is not going to get out of this conversation.</p><p>“As the stars love the sky and the trees love the earth. He lights up my life.” Her eyes are wide and Caranthir can read the truth in them and the bright almost-marriage bond that shines within them. “But he will <em>die</em>.”</p><p>
  <em>“She will die, Moryo,” Finvain says, her arms crossed. “You will suffer.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Get out.” Caranthir points at the door as the room goes quiet. “This is my wedding, I will not have you ruining it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She shrugs. “I just thought I’d warn you.”</em>
</p><p><em>“I don’t</em> need<em> your warnings.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Are you sure?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Caranthir had lost his temper then and she had left with a bleeding nose.</em>
</p><p>“Yes, he will,” Caranthir agrees, pulling himself back to the present. “He will die. But if you will be happy, it will be worth it. I could have let her go but then I would never have had the years with her that I did nor our four children who I would trade for nothing in this world. I have never regretted it, no matter how long it has been or how much I miss her.”</p><p>Lúthien looks at him with wide eyes. “Thank you,” She says sincerely and stands. “You have been of great help.”</p><p>Caranthir shrugs. “If you say so.” He picks up his sewing again.</p><p>“I do.” She leans forward, getting quite a bit too far into his personal space. “It was most kind of you to take the time to talk. I must now go and find Celegorm – we are trying to think of ways to get through the barrier keeping Beren captive.”</p><p>Caranthir doesn’t care that much but he doesn’t let it show on his face, nodding once more in farewell as she hurries off, a small skip in her step. He shakes his head, thoughts and feelings he had managed to keep neatly ordered in disarray.</p><p>He does not have time to put them back in their correct places when he hears a loud noise coming down the corridor and a small pack of children – although he knows that none of them technically are such – comes tumbling through the door of the drawing room.</p><p>“Atta!”</p><p>Caranthir has to push his chair back as three of his four children throw themselves at him: he does not know where they got this clinginess from as it certainly wasn’t him or their mother. Þurë, his youngest and by far the most sensible, nods solemnly from where she has perched herself on the end of a settee.</p><p>“What are you making?” Mírë asks, draping herself across his shoulders even as the twins back away to sit on the rug by the fire and taking out a chess set from where it was stored in the window seat.</p><p>“I’m fixing the kirtle you tore the other day when you fell out of the tree you weren’t supposed to be climbing.”</p><p>“Ereinion dared me,” Mírë says, sounding completely unapologetic. “I refuse to be beaten by any cousin of mine.”</p><p>“Alright.” Caranthir stands, brushing her off his shoulders and dropping the dress in her arms. “You can keep fixing this – I have better things to be doing with my time.”</p><p>She looks aghast. “But I’m terrible with a needle! <em>Atta</em>!” She lengthens out the final ‘a’ and groans when he makes his way to sit on the armchair by the fire.</p><p>“Maybe then you shouldn’t have gone climbing trees in the wrong sort of clothes. Next time, get changed into some breeches and a shirt. Less fabric for it to be caught on.”</p><p>She groans again and continues to complain as she takes a seat on the opposite sofa.</p><p>“I don’t see why I have to wear the dresses and skirts all the time anyway – I spend all my time riding or climbing and it would be far more practical considering I’m abysmal at sewing.”</p><p>Caranthir, who had taken out a notebook and was going through some notes he had made on Hithlum’s finances earlier while eavesdropping on a meeting (because really, Fingon should fire his financier if <em>this</em> was what he was doing with the economy), looks up. “It’s just polite while we’re at the High King’s court Mírë. And fixing your clothes is an essential life skill whether they are torn regularly or not.”</p><p>Both the twins nod very seriously at their fathers words.</p><p>“An essential life skill,” Indë repeats and her brother adds, “Like seducing stable hands.”</p><p>Mírë flushes a bright red. “I didn’t seduce them! Rochind and I just had mutual interests and we ended up enjoying our time talking about them until it evolved into something…different.”</p><p>“That is how your mother and I met, that is true.” Caranthir says, keeping his face completely straight and not looking up from his maths.</p><p>“Gross. We <em>don’t</em> need to know about you and Mama,” Mahto says and Indë nods vehemently, shivering slightly at the thought.</p><p>“That’s not how Mama told it,” Þurë begins but Míre cuts her off.</p><p>“Hush, you. Let me enjoy my victory.”</p><p>“It’s not really <em>your</em> vict-”</p><p>“Hush.”</p><p>Þurë rolls her eyes. “Your thread’s come off your needle.”</p><p>“Yes, I <em>know</em>.”</p><p>“You didn’t know when you were quite happily backstitching without any thread.”</p><p>“Your head has got too big for it’s shoulders since we agreed you were Atta’s heir.”</p><p>“And <em>you</em> have no-”</p><p>Mahto cuts in. “Do you hear that?”</p><p>They both go quiet.</p><p>“No?” Mírë says, slightly confused. “What-”</p><p>“It <em>was</em> the wonderful sound of silence.”</p><p>Mírë throws a throw pillow at him and Caranthir has to lunge forward to catch it before it goes in the fire. “Behave yourselves. You’re only here for a month so <em>please</em> remember the conversation we had on your first night?”</p><p>There are a series of soft apologies and the room falls back into silence barring the ticking of the clock and the crackling of the fire.</p><p>Caranthir was right – he could never regret marrying Haleth.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Non-Canon Names:<br/>Þurë - Short for Þurifinwë<br/>Þurifinwë - Seeking Finwë (Quenya)<br/>Mírë - Short for Mírifinwë<br/>Mírifinwë - Jewel Finwë (Quenya)<br/>Indë - Short for Indifinwë<br/>Indifinwë - Great Woman Finwë (Quenya)<br/>Mahto - Short for Mahtafinwë<br/>Mahtafinwë - Wielding Finwë (Quenya)<br/>Rochind - Horse Heart (Sindarin)</p><p>Sindarin Translations:<br/>Riel - Princess</p><p>Quenya Translations:<br/>Atta - Father (Informal)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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